A Yummy MPreg Story
by RachelMustoFende
Summary: Written to fill the void I found when I searched asoiaf mpreg. Not serious mpreg mind you, the lulz kind.Yaoi, JonxRobxTheon. The first chapter is just slash, if you'd like some. A Game of Thrones crack parody. Read and Review c:
1. Chapter 1: Basically Just Fucking

**Part One**

**a/n: Yeah, so, this. Written for amusement. I have no idea if there's readers out there interested . . . so make sure to review if you like it 'cause I may not get around to uploading the rest of it if no one comments~! **

Theon made a face and kicked the detached head as it rolled near him.

"Asshole," Jon muttered. Their caustic relationship was the front they put up in public, so no one would suspect it's true nature.

Blah blah found direwolves blah blah.

Later that night, Jon was sitting in the room he shared with his brothers, playing with his new puppy. He poked the helpless ball of fluff and it rolled over on the bed, stuck in the small rut that it's weight made in the bedsheets. Ghost whined.

"Teehee," said Jon.

The door opened. "Mmm," said Theon, coming up behind him and leaning his chest against his back, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. "All these wolves are putting me in the mood for a little doggy style." Before Jon could react his hand darted downward, snaking under his belt and fingering his bulge through his breeches.

Jon yelped. He had just enough time to save his puppy by flinging it off the bed before Theon picked him up and threw him down, crushing the spot where his delicate wolfie had just been flailing. Ghost landed on the hard wooded floor boards with a small thump that went unnoticed in the wake of the much louder thumps that were issuing from the bed. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself into a corner. First his mother had died, then he had almost frozen to death forgotten in the snow, then his new owner had tormented him with pokes and now he was being flung about the room. It wasn't the best day to be Ghost.

Sounds of flying bedsheets and limbs knocking against the bed frame filled the room as Jon fought fruitlessly to gain the upper hand. Not that he didn't want to have obnoxious gay sex with his kind-of brother, but, being a proud Stark, he did feel the need to at least give a cursory objection to being buggered like a dog.

With a victorious, dramatic whoosh Theon whipped off Jon's pants with a flourish one may use to reveal a gourmet meal. No doubt the sight of his lover's rosie arse was just as delectable. He sunk his happy penis into it without further a due.

Jon yelped again, his muscles contracting around the intrusion. "Lube!" he cried.

"Sorry, hasn't been invented yet." Theon grabbed the younger boy and yanked his hips higher, holding him in a more helpless position with his behind up in the air and his head smooshed into the mattress. Jon wailed but his erect penis assured Theon of his pleasure. He fingered the little rod, working a finger into the slit at it's head. "To-hoho," he laughed gleefully, and began to thrust.

"Uwah! Uwah!"

"Huff Huff"

"Pant Pant"

"Oh my God!"

"Huh!"

Theon halted in mid thrust and both boys turned their heads sharply to see a figure standing in the doorway. The light from the hall fell squarely on their scene of sin.

"Who is it?" grumbled Jon, unhappy at the interruption, trying to turn his head but unable to move it while Theon still held him by his hair, pushing his head down.

"Jon!" squeaked the figure in the doorway in alarm.

Jon froze. "That's not my father, is it?" he asked, voice muffled by the layers of blanket that had fallen over him.

"It's just Rob," Theon assured him, and made to go back to fucking him.

"Hey!" shouted Rob, running over to the other side of the bed and putting his hands protectively on Jon's back. "You don't get to just fuck my brother like that! Speaking of which . . ." he grabbed Jon's ears and pulled his head up to face him, straining Jon's neck painfully in the process. "How could you cheat on me like this!"

"Sorry," mumbled Jon, disoriented and relieved when Rob released his ears and let his head fall back down.

"Well, it could be worse," said Rob, surveying the pair. "At least you scored a hottie!" Rob ripped off his shirt and jumped in bed eagerly.

"Whoa!" cried Theon, confused.

"It's okay; the bed is big, so this will work," Rob said, speaking from experience. Many things had gone down on that bed, shared by many generations of Stark brothers. Rob lifted his brother's upper half up tenderly wiggled his own groin under him, placing him back down on his hips.

Jon groaned once the rutting resumed, unable to protest as his mouth was full of Rob's shaft. Squeezed by his brother's bare thighs and urged on by the new second hand in his hair, he began reluctantly to suck his brother's seed out. It was a job he had preformed many times before, but as the bed shook with the increasingly violent plunges into his nether region, he became more and more aware that as he was pleasuring both the other boys, his own needs were going largely unattended. He sighed mentally. It was because he was the bastard and at the bottom of the . . . erm . . . fucking order.

He tried to take a hand off Rob's legs (which he was clinging to) in order to reach between his legs and . . . ah . . . take matters into his own hands but the movement behind him grew to such fever pitch that it was all he could do to hang on.

With a triumphant roar Theon spent himself and collapsed, not bothering to extract himself from Jon's tight anus, resulting in Jon being dragged down with him, forcing him to turn his head awkwardly as to not bite his brother. A moment later Jon felt a tensing and then the familiar, although still unsavoury salty taste of his brother's cum in his mouth.

After a moment of rest, the two boys finally turned their attention to the one remaining hardness in the bed. Jon lay on his back, feeling he deserved the pampering. Rob sat up and lazily massaged his brother's little penis with one hand. Theon joined him, rubbing the base and, leaning down, kissed him passionately. Jon opened his mouth eagerly.

The door creaked open again. Jon opened his eyes in shock. "Dad?" he asked, muffled this time by Theon's tongue, which has been licking his pallet.

"Jon?" asked a little voice, sickly sweet as ice cream.

"Bran!" said Rob, startled. "N-no no, Bran, don't come any closer, ah, just, go . . . go back outside. Leave."

"But it's bed time!" the little boy complained, drawing closer regardless of his big brother's pleas. He squinted at the three big kids on the bed, trying to decipher what was going on. His eyes lighted on Jon's stiff penis. His eyes widened. "What's wrong with it?" he asked incredulously, "Does it hurt?"

"Um, yes," improvised Theon, drawing away. "Jon hurt his weewee, and we were just, uh, rubbing it for him."

Bran reached out a curious finger and poked the boner. Jon squeaked and clamped his thighs shut, twisting away. Now he knew how Ghost felt.

Bran climbed up in bed and showed every intention of going to sleep. Heaven be if anything should get in the way of a child's sleep. Theon grabbed his clothes and slipped out of the room before someone else showed up. Rob lay down next to his little brother and played along, getting ready to fall asleep. He slapped Jon in a most unforgiving manner, telling him to lose the boner and go to sleep.

Jon groaned and rolled over, trying to think unsexy thoughts. It wasn't easy being a bastard.

Somewhere in a corner, Ghost whimpered.


	2. Chapter 2: OMGZ Pregnant

**AN: So apparently people some _were _reading this thing. I told you to comment, no? So I'll put some more up now, but I'm serious: why should I bother uploading if no one comments?**

**Part Two**

"Jon!" Jon jumped. "What are you doing here?" His father demanded.

"I- I . . . .uh . . ."

"Look at you, you're filthy!"

Jon looked at his father, throat trembling. "I'm . . . dirty?"

"Yes! Dirty boy! Dirty dirty boy!"

Jon's eyes began to wobble. He had tried so hard to keep his shame hidden from his father, and now his father must know what he had done. What he must think of him!

"You're almost as bad as Arya!"

" . . . What!"

"Straw in your hair, mud on your face, it almost looks like you've been tumbling around in the stables."

"Oooh." Relief flooded Jon's body.

Eddard grabbed his 'son' by the arm and began to haul him away. "Come on, I was just about to take a bath anyway. We'll go together."

Sitting in the steaming bath, Jon was reminded of playing with yellow rubber duckies with Rob when he was little. Just such a duckie floated past as he thought. He remembered how his father used to join in and splash water at them, making them laugh. He smiled across the tub at his only parent. He didn't know what he would do if anything should ever come between them.

After a long soak, thoroughly pruned, Jon stood up and stretched. His father eyed him. "Say Jon, aren't you looking a little . . ."

Jon looked over his shoulder nervously, face flushed, though from the heat of the water or embarrassment Eddard couldn't tell.

" . . . fat?"

Jon's eyes popped and he put both hands protectively over his tummy, making a splash as he huddled back under the water.

Eddard laughed at his reaction and thumped him on the back. "No need to worry. Just lay off the roast chicken; I've noticed you eating an exorbitant amount lately."

"That's been Ghost," Jon mumbled, refusing to meet his father's eye.

"Well, either way. Come now, we're both perfectly clean."

"I think I'd rather stay here, actually."

Eddard looked at him and clucked his tongue. "Have it your way, then."

Jon rubbed his hands across the lump of his belly and sat there, hiding from the rest of the world until the water began to get cold. He shivered, not wanting to get sick just then. He looked at his stomach. "For your sake, then," he told it, and got out.

Jon continued to hide and avoid his family, ducking behind barrels and convenient tapestries whenever he saw them coming. He was even gloomily prepared to skip dinner, as to not be forced to sit in both his brother's and father's presences, but that resolve lasted about 10 minutes. "It's all your fault," he blamed his tummy.

He kept his eyes downcast as he ate, trying not to listen to the cheerful babble around him. So used to his sullenness, his family didn't really notice.

He was jerked out of his misery by a sharp elbow in his side. "Oi, didn't I tell you to lay off?" his father asked.

Jon dropped his fork and looked up, his eyes poison. "It's Ghost I tell you, Ghost!" he protested, bending down and lifting the puppy up, waving the fuzzy ball under Eddard's nose. Ghost whimpered as he was swung around, held painfully under his front legs.

"Why does _he _get to have his wolf at the table?" complained Sansa, "Lady's the best behaved, and you made her wait in my room!"

"Lady can't be the best behaved, compared to Ghost. We didn't even notice he was there," pointed out Arya, her voice dripping with malice.

A squabble broke out. Ned whistled for silence. "_I _didn't tell anyone anything about keeping wolves at the table. It was your mother's decision," he pointed out.

"Mom!" implored Sansa.

Caitlin shrugged. "I can't tell him what to do."

"That's right, bitch," Jon hissed.

"Bastard."

"Oi! Stop fighting right now!" Eddard ordered.

"Whatever," muttered Jon vehemently, gloom turned to anger. He got up and stalked away, leaving Ghost to patter after him as best as his stubby legs would carry him.

Jon stomped into his room, anger dissipating. He kicked off his boots and tossed himself under the covers, feeling too apathetic to do more.

After a moment he sighed and got back up, undressing and pulling his jammies over his head.

It didn't help. His mind was in too much turmoil to sleep. He couldn't look upon his brother without feeling a poisonous mixture of shame and desire, and now, thanks to recent developments, he couldn't think of his father without feeling anxiety. What would he do when he found out that his son liked taking it up the bum? And oh, he would definitely find out now, it was only a matter of time.

Rob came in after awhile and poked him in the shoulder. "It's early yet to be in bed," he observed.

"Shove off," growled Jon, voice muffled by his pillow, blankets, and arm, all of which were thrown over his face in an attempt at privacy.

Unphased by his habitual display of grumpiness, Rob snuggled under the covers with is brother, dislodging Ghost from his comfy spot in the process, leaving him to struggle helplessly on the cold floorboards, trying to jump the impossible distance back onto the bed. No one noticed.

Rob pulled Jon against his chest and rested his head on his shoulder, humming softly. Jon had mommy issues and Rob new how to exploit them. He rubbed one hand through his hair and with the other he hiked up the nightgown's hem and snaked a teasing hand around to his front.

He began his usual routine, working his way down from nipples to groin, rubbing and massaging, but stopped at his stomach. "You're getting bulgy," he noted condescendingly, poking the offending area.

"Mph," said Jon in way of reply. If Rob ignored his belly for now, he might actually get some gratification.

"No really, it's like a whole other person in bed with us!"

Jon yelped a high-pitched whine and curled up, shielding his stomach with his knees, his raw nerve thoroughly scratched.

Rob drew back in horror. "J-Jon, you're not saying your . . ." Jon screwed his eyes shut in preparation for the impending explosion. "You're pregnant!" his brother gasped. Jon didn't answer but inclined his head a fraction of an inch. Rob let his breathe out slowly and let himself fall down on Jon, further smothering him. He wrapped his head in his arms protectively. "What are we gonna do?" he asked, wondering how he was going to tell his father that he was a brotherfucker, unaware that such a thing was in fact a long-standing Stark tradition.

"I don't know," wailed Jon, wondering how he was going to tell his father that he was gay at all, unaware even more so than Rob that such a thing was in fact a long-standing Stark tradition.

Rob took in a large gulp of air to steady himself. "Well, if we're going to have this thing, I can tell you that I will take responsibility-"

"Hey!" barked Theon from the doorway, where he had been standing for an unknown length of time. "Who says this baby is yours? You're not the only one who's been taking advantage of his terribly lonely and vulnerable state."

Rob narrowed his eyes at his rival and hugged Jon closer to him. "It's _definitely _mine."

Theon laughed nastily and stood on the other side of the unfortunate Jon, putting his own hand on him like a claim. "I'm sorry to tell you dear Robbie that one can't conceive through one's mouth."

"P-tcha! You can't conceive through your ass either!"

"Regardless of the means of conception, it happened," Jon said. No one noticed.

"Our kid's going to look so handsome in gold and black," he mused. "I always thought black was your colour, Jon."

Rob slapped his hand away. "Our kid is going to be ginger, just you wait and see!" he retorted.

"Oh, we'll see all right," Theon shot back, accepting the challenge.

Both boys pivoted on their heals and flounced away in opposite directions.

For a moment the room was quiet and the bump under the covers unmoving. Slowly Jon reached single arm out and scooped up Ghost, who had been trampled by Theon as he walked away, and huddled him against his chest.


	3. Chapter 3: Or is he?

**Part Three**

**AN: So . . . people still reading this? Ah well, it's already written anyway, I might as well post it. Of course, I could edit it to make it ~better~ if people would comment!**

Rob opened his eyes lazily. The air in the room was cold against his exposed cheek, but there under the covers with his brother, it was nice and toasty. He cuddled in deeper and closed his eyes, looking forward to that time between waking and rising. He slid a hand underneath the covers to rub Jon's ever growing belly, hoping to feel kicking. They had yet to feel any, but it must be nearing time now. It was only then that he realized his brother was rigid beneath his touch.

"Bread," Jon croaked, trying not to move.

"Oh!" gasped Rob, remembering, and dove into a drawer next to the bed and came back out with a loaf from last night's diner. He handed it to Jon, who put small pieces in his mouth cautiously.

"Is Jon hungry again~?" asked Bran in a sing-song voice, popping up in that child's way of having the worst timing one can possibly imagine. He caused the blankets to fly up in the process, leaving Jon half naked in the frigid air. He moaned.

"Jon, you're so fat! You need to stop eating so much!" Bran teased, poking him in his bulging middle.

"That does it," Jon moaned, and got to the chamber pot just in time to retch into it.

Rob stroked his hair sympathetically. "Is my baby making you sick?" he crooned.

"No, MY baby is making him sick," barked Theon from the doorway, where he had been standing for an unknown amount of time.

Rob ignored him. "You're really going to have to tell Father soon," he said, worriedly. "Honestly I don't know how he's managed not to notice already."

"That man is as dimwitted as a post," snarled Theon. Jon and Rob shot him steely looks.

"Tell Daddy what?" asked Bran, "What hasn't he noticed? He noticed that you're fat all right Jon, he tells you all the time!" He laughed.

"I guess it's a hard thing to believe," Rob mused. "I mean, if he thinks you're fat . . ."

"One hopes that Eddard has a better understanding of what a pregnant person looks like than does your 8 year old brother," Theon scoffed.

Jon covered his head with his arms and cried, "Its easy for you to say! You're not the one who has to tell him you've ruined yourself!"

Rob frowned. "Do you want me to tell him? I suppose its my responsibility as much as yours."

"How many times to I have to tell you; its MY responsibility," Theon asserted.

"Oh? And are you going to look after and love Jon and this baby as if it were your own legitimate child?" he pressed.

Theon looked taken aback, but recovered and bent down to draw a hand down Jons bare back. "Because its you," he whispered. Jon felt a chill race up his spine.

"Whoever does it, we should do it now," he quavered, not daring to let his teary eyes meet his brothers'. "Otherwise, next thing you know the baby is going to come and we're going to have it on our hands with no explanation as to from whence it came."

Rob looked startled. "IS it coming soon? My god, how long have you been pregnant Jon?"

"I don't know . . ." he moaned. "But, I think you don't start showing until really late, and I didn't even know myself until then . . ."

"How late?" Rob demanded.

"Could be 5 months," Theon told them. Very knowledgeable about such things, was Theon.

"5 months! But, my god, and I noticed three months ago . . . you're almost ready to pop!"

Jon groaned loudly in protest.

"Come to think of it, how is this baby going to pop anyway?"

They all looked at Jon. He whimpered.

Later that night, Bran sat with his father in his solar, enjoying the silent companionship. At least, Eddard was enjoying the silence. We all know for how long an 8 year old enjoys silence before they feel an irresistible urge to break it.

Bran leaned back and kicked his feet up. He bit his lip and tried to weigh uncertainty with curiosity. "Rob and Jon were saying some strange things this morning, Daddy."

"Oh, and what would that be?" Eddard played along, hoping this would lead to the quickest termination of the conversation.

"Well, they were saying it pretty strangely, but . . . and they kept saying that you didn't know and they had to tell you . . ."

"Out with it!"

"They said that he was having a baby," Bran explained slowly.

Eddard froze, fear and anger both starting to blossom in his mind as he slowly digested the possible realities of that statement. "Who, Bran? Who's having a baby?" He hadn't thought either one of them had . . . but then again, they wouldn't exactly have told him, would they?

"Uhh . . ." This is where things got hazy in Bran's mind. "Jon," he finally said, "but Rob said . . . that it was his."

Eddard put his quill down, shaking. The boy obviously didn't know the long or short of it. "Get your brother," he told Bran, not specifying which one. He breathed long and deep, trying to control himself. By the gods, please let this be nothing, he prayed. Please let Bran not know what he's saying, please let this be some joke . . . He thought of Jon and winced. He didn't want either of them to go through what he had gone through with Catelyn.

Rob eventually appeared at the door. "Father?" he asked. "You wanted me."

Eddard tried not to appear angry as he looked up at his son. "Mmm," he said in agreement, taking his time formulating words in his head. "It may be nothing," he started lightly, "but . . ." his face grew dark. "Bran told me he overheard you boys saying something disturbing this morning."

Rob's face was like an open book in his wariness. "Oh."

"He said that you had . . . gotten a girl pregnant," he said simply. Rob didn't seem surprised, but he looked at his feet and shuffled them. "Rob!" Ned barked, waiting impatiently for an answer.

Rob inhaled, summoning his courage. "Not quite," he said, looking up at his father. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you, that I maybe should have told you before." He drew himself up to his full height and put a hand on his chest in earnestness. "Dad, Jon and I are having a baby," he announced.

Eddard blinked. "What, both of you got girls pregnant?" he asked incredulously.

"No," said Rob, gaining momentum. "Jon is carrying my child, father."

Ned blinked once more, and then the lights came on. "Oh," he said in a small voice of sudden understanding. "Oh," he said again, loudly and more angry, as he realized the implications on that.

Just then the door to the solar burst open and Theon strode in. Ned jumped and frowned. "Knock before you enter," he commanded.

Theon shook his head. "No time for that," he said, ignoring Rob next to him. "My Lord, there is something I must tell you. Jon and I are having a baby," he said without hesitation.

Eddard looked from one young man to the other. "Both of you?" he asked, truly confused.

They looked at each other for the first time and both opened and closed their mouths like fish. "Well the truth is-" one said.

"We really couldn't-" said the other.

They stopped. "We don't know," Rob admitted.

"Whose it is," Theon clarified.

"Let me get this straight," Eddard demanded. "You're saying that Jon is pregnant, and one of you two is the father."

"Yes," said Rob

"Well, that's wonderful news!" Ned said with a big beam.

". . . What?"

"Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. "We're having a baby, its great! And here I thought that there was some noble girl out there whose father I would have to appease... but this is fine! Of course, we wouldn't be able to tell the world that you two . . . you three have been . . . but well, between you and me." He winked at his son. Rob's face had turned a shade of red to match his hair.

"And where is Jon anyway?" he went on, looking around. "Is he hiding because he's embarrassed? Nonsense! Lets go find him." He strode briskly out of the room. Rob and Theon stood there a moment longer, jaws residing somewhere near floor level.

Jon, as it turned out, was not hiding, but was indeed very embarrassed. He jumped as his family burst into the room in which he had been brooding. "Jon," his father called to him, coming towards him with a very uncharacteristic smile. Jon shrunk away in fear.

"Jon, is it true? Are you having a baby?"

Jon had been on the tipping point for days, and now his dam broke in a rush. He started to cry. "You know?" he asked through his tears, horrified. He tried to cover his face and shrink away.

"What's the matter?" Ned crooned.

"What you must think of me~" he garbled through his sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Ned made a face of sympathy. "You're emotions must be being effected by hormones. Come now, it happens to the best of us." He patted his son, who was still trying to wriggle away and jump out the window. "You're certainly going to be big, with a baby on top of all that fat."

". . . But father," started Rob, "surely you see, that IS the baby."

Ned looked from his son to his other son's stomach. "Why, no it isn't," he said.

"But father, the baby has been growing for 8 months, and that is it!"

His father laughed heartily. "Come now, Rob, I know what a body looks like when it's with child, and I tell you, this here," he claimed, jabbing Jon, "is fat."

"But, my tummy, and the morning sickness," Jon sobbed.

Ned patted him on the head. "Look here Jon, why is it you say that you're pregnant?"

"Because I'm fat!" he wailed.

"Is that all? Look you silly boy, haven't I told you all along, lay off the chicken and this enormous stomach will disappear? Really, is that it?"

Theon and Rob looked at each other, flushes rising as they realized what was going on.

Jon, unable to come to terms, just wailed.

"Trust me Jon, you can forget all this silly baby business. Just go on a diet," his father chided.

"B-but . . . I don't eat anything. . ."

Eddard patted him sympathetically and left. He turned around at the door. "Oh, and don't let anyone find out that you're fucking," he told them.

Rob looked truly sad. "Maybe . . ." he started, but trailed off. He shrugged and left too.

Theon shook his head. "I told you, that man has all the sense of a chicken coop, and so does Rob. I don't know what the Lady Catelyn looked like," he made a screwed up face, "but I'm sure this is a baby." He put his hands on Jon's belly. "And if Rob wants to renounce it, then there's no one to say it isn't mine." He turned and left in a swirl of black and gold cloak.

Jon moaned loudly, crying for pity, but finding none buried himself under a blanket: his usual refuge. He thought he felt a slight kicking, but then again, it might have just been Ghost laying down next to him.


	4. Chapter 4: Fabulous

**Part Four**

**A/N: Lalalala~ makes no matter what I write here anyway lalala~**

Jon wondered through the next few days in a confused haze. Whenever Rob saw him, his face would flush red and he would make some dumb excuse about checking on the chickens and run off. And, his father insisted on continuing to smile sympathetically at him and patting him on the back, or the shoulder, or the head, which was the worst, because it mussed up his hair. Theon still wanted to be around him, but, the nature of what Theon wanted being what it was, Jon found it best to stay clear if he could.

And yet, despite the fact that Jon was now eating next to nothing, refusing to come to meals and sit through the ordeal with his family's eyes on him, his stomach continued to be painfully swollen and his body stupidly tender.

One day he awoke very early, his back aching. Tossing but unable to expel the feeling, he sighed and got up. He pulled on his boots and shrugged on the big old coat which he was forced to wear, as his old coat didn't fit him anymore. It still hung lonely in the closet. Such a shame, it was such a sexy coat, too. Jon rubbed his belly. The only this he could hope for was that his sexy coat would fit him again soon.

The big coat, by the way, was procured from a dusty corner by his father, with the comment that "these needs do come up every now and then."

Determined to walk out the kink, Jon set off to watch the sun rise with Ghost on his heels. He slipped down the stairs like a phantom in the dark. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the summer snow, into which he sunk a full foot and a half. Resigning himself to eternal misery, Jon trudged on. Ghost didn't fare so well, sinking in over his head and subsequently floundering to follow his master. No one noticed.

He reached the small hill thoroughly chilled. The warm glow appearing on the horizon wasn't as comforting as he thought it would be, as the pain in his lower back was growing and spreading to his front. Jon wondered gloomily if he could make it back in time to get some food before his family woke up.

But if he went to the main hall, somehow, Theon would be in the doorway waiting for him, just standing there for an unknown amount of time . . . and Theon kept insisting that you could still go in the back way even if you were pregnant, and he had never been able to ward off Theon's assault even when he was in peak condition . . .

He turned to leave, leaving a few drops of shining crimson snow wear he had been standing. Ghost sniffed them and jumped, alarmed. Jon turned and, misunderstanding, picked up the little puppy. "It must be the hormones," he told Ghost, for once taking pity and tucking him underneath his arm. Ghost whined as he watched a trail of droplets materialize behind them.

At first thinking that he must be very hungry indeed, by the time Jon got back he was gasping with pain and sweating inside his coat. Feeling too weak to make it to the kitchens or to care about any possible embarrassing encounters with Rob, he slumped upstairs and went back to bed, whimpering.

He didn't know how long he lay there, enduring his pain in silence (actually he was moaning like a baby, but he would never admit that). It took a long time for him to become aware that the sheets over his legs were heavy and warm. He tried to move but his thighs were slick with a sticky fluid. Blearily, he lifted his heavy eye lids to peer at his lower half.

Suddenly an intense pain seized his belly. Groaning, he clutched himself and sank back, unable to move. The pain abated and he gasped for breath. "Daaaad~," he tried to call, but was too weak to manage anything that would make it past the wooden door.

The pain returned with a vengeance.

Panting, Jon sighed and relaxed when the pain vanished. In fact, his whole body seemed better now. Looked down at himself.

His eyes widened in horror. "DADDY!" he screamed.

Arya looked around. "Jon hasn't come to any meal at all today," she noted.

Ned laughed. "Don't worry, he has enough fat on him to last him all winter," he assured her, slapping the table in mirth.

"Maybe we should go get him. . ."

Rob's face coloured. "He's fine where he is," he insisted.

"Where is Jon?" asked Bran, all innocence. "He wasn't there when I got up."

Rob scowled through his embarrassment. "Who cares? Just leave him be."

Theon banged his fist on the table and stood up. "How can you say that?" he bellowed, "and you his brother, too. All of you, you're supposed to be his family!" He turned his back on them. "Well, if no ones else cares about my bride and my child, I'll go find him." He stormed off.

Sansa blinked. "His bride?"

"Theon says Jon's his salt wife," Arya said with her mouth full.

"Shut up!" Rob wailed.

As was the way with Theon, on his way upstairs he began to fantasize about what he would "feed" Jon once he found him. Smiling, he rushed on.

Rounding the corner of the corridor where his bedroom was (despite his constantly "unknown" whereabouts, Jon was always in his bedroom) and promptly slipped and fell face first. More startled than hurt, Theon raised himself to his elbows and looked around. A small pool of blood was smeared across the floor where he had fallen. More blood was spattered down the hallway. In fact there was quite a lot of blood, making a trail that ended right in front of the Stark brother's door.

"Shit," he muttered. "Jon!" he yelled, bounding to his feet.

He burst in through the door, the setting sun bright in his eyes, making it hard to see. Shielding them, he ran to the soggy bundle on the bed. Suddenly apprehensive, he poked it. It twitched. Sighing with relief, he picked up the bloody baby and, turning it over, he saw that the baby had a fabulous dark swatch of hair and red, rosy lips. His cheeks glinted a healthy pink, and, Theon noted with pride, a slight sparkle in the dyeing sun.

The baby looked at him, all cuteness, and moved his mouth in a sucking motion.

Theon looked around the room for the hapless . . . erm, mother? The sun filled the whole room with a dull orange glow, casting shadows. At first he saw nothing, but then something in the corner shifted.

Jon sat there, quivering, drenched, his eyes wide and gooey, taking up a good 60% of his face. He moaned in terror as Theon advanced upon him with his offspring. "Shh, there, Jon, look? Everything's fine, poor you. Did mommy have you all by himself?" he cooed to the baby. He held out the fabulous little boy. Jon shrunk away. The baby fixed on his chest and made the sucking motion again.

"Aw, is little Salty hungry?" he crooned. "Come here Jon, feed my child!"

"S-Salty!" he choked in indignation.

"Eh, 'cause you're my salt wife," Theon explained.

"I am not! And you're not naming my kid Salty; look at him, he's far too fabulous for that name!" He made to snatch the baby out of Theon's hands, but he jerked it away. The baby made an "nnn" noise and continued to suck the air vigorously.

"What, and have you got a better name, then?"

Jon crossed his arms. "Yes, I have. Theobert."

". . . What?"

"It's Theon and Robert," he explained.

"That's a terrible name!" Theon retorted. "Anyway, this baby is mine I tell you, mine!" and he ran out of the room before Jon could stop him.

He ran out of the room and . . . slipped and fell on the puddle of blood again. Holding the hungry baby up and out of danger's way, he scrambled to his feet and rushed down the stairs. He hurtled into the dining hall and leaped up onto the high table (knocking Catelyn's wine into her lap in the process). "Look everyone, I have a baby!" he yelled, holding the naked, squirming fabulous baby high above his head for all to see.

Rob's jaw dropped.

Sansa quirked her eyebrow. "Well, I'll be."


	5. Chapter 5: The Naming Game

**Part Five**

**A/N: So I don't know if they talked about this in the show but yeah, it's a wildling thing not to name a baby until it's three years old (because so many die before that point anyway) and there were these two characters called Lump and Bump by their mother as infants . . . so that's where that random joke comes from.**

**Also yes I am poking at Ned's slowpoke method of figuring out that Jeoffrey is an incest baby . . . as if everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms hadn't already figured that one out . . . **

Ned stood up angrily and yanked on Theon's sleeve. "Get down from there," he hissed. The hall was dead quiet; the knights and servants in attendance were silent as the grave. Somewhere in a corner, a cricket chirped. "Stop waving that bastard around," he ordered.

Theon used his long legs to step off the table in a single graceful stride. "Now look here, it's no business of mine which serving girls you choose to bed, but I will not have you dishonouring yourself and I by proclaiming it to the world!" Ned hissed.

"Now look here yourself!" said Theon loudly and proudly, "This here is your grandson!" He waved the baby under his nose.

"Eh? Don't play games with me Theon," he warned.

Arya sighed and shook her head. "Daddy, you're dumb," she told him. Catelyn promptly thwacked her over the head.

"Is it . . . Jon's?" asked Rob in a small voice.

"Yes!" answered Theon impatiently.

"Tcha, I though I told you silly boys that it was all fat!" Ned stomped in anger.

Theon rounded on him. "Oh yeah, and where do you think Salty came from then?"

Sansa crinkled her nose. "_Salty?_"

Ned crossed his arms crossly. "Fine then, have it your way, Greyjoy. Bring me to him." The rest of the family immediately got up to follow.

Jon jumped as a crowd of people bundled themselves into his not-so-big room. Feeling self-conscious and scared, he tried to tuck himself even farther into the farthest corner as they assembled, looking down at him in curiosity. He pulled the blanket from the bed tighter around himself and buried as much of his head in it as he could.

His father bent down to him, looking him steadily but steely in the one eye that he wasn't covering. Eddard looked slowly from the baby to the bloody bed to his son, who was sitting in a puddle of blood and looking at him with an expression specifically tailored to garner every single last bit of sympathy that it could. He looked around slowly again.

Eddard was a master detective. He searched for clues and pieces of evidence and methodically slotted them into place in his highly intelligent brain. No mystery was too complicated for Eddard Stark. Given enough time . . . long, long amounts of time . . . he could solve any mystery.

The rest of the family waited patiently for the rusty gears to turn.

"Well," he said to Jon after a few long moments, "there's no doubt you had _a _baby. But I don't see any reason to believe it was _that _baby," he said, glowering at the fabulous baby boy in Theon's arms.

A shocked silence followed. The sleep bubble that had been growing on Bran's nose burst.

"Duh, who else's would it be?" asked Arya.

"That is a completely unnecessary plot thread!" Rob stormed. "Ignore him! That baby is obviously mine and Jon's!"

"Oi!" protested Theon. "You already gave up your claim to this baby, jerk!"

Ned rolled his eyes. "Not this again!"

Rob stomped his feet angrily. "No fair! It's at least just as likely that Wulfie is mine as he is yours!"

Sansa wrinkled her nose. "_Wulfie?_"

Arya elbowed her in the ribs. "Hey, at least no one's suggested Squidy."

"You just did."

"Damn."

"I think Jon should name the baby!" Bran crowed happily.

Rob patted his younger brother. "No no Bran, you see, it's the father that gets to decide these things."

Bran's eyes widened. "But isn't Jon a father? I thought men were fathers."

They all looked at Jon. Jon's eyes were molten and his lip trembled. Just then the baby let loose a wail, sick and tired of being waved about when he was cold and hungry. Theon hastily handed him to Jon, who took him intrepidly, holding him out in front of him in confusion. Catelyn raised an eyebrow and made a discrete motion with her arms.

Jon put him against his breast doubtfully, but to everyone's surprise he began to suckle away happily. Jon looked at his father and whimpered, as if to say, "What's happening to my body?"

Ned just shrugged. Catelyn giggled. "Well, it happened to you," she pointed out.

Ned flushed. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that."

"His name is Theobert," Jon announced.

"Ew, no! That's an atrocious name! I'm not letting you call him that," Arya told him.

"But it's Theon and Robert . . ." he explained.

Rob knelt. "Come on Jon, there's no need for that! We can call him . . . Ron! Yeah, Ron, Jon and Rob!"

"No!" the family shouted.

Theon pushed Rob out of the way. "If you want to go that way, we can call him . . . Joneon! No, Jonethon!"

"NO!"

Ned snapped his fingers for attention. The Master Detective got ready to brilliantly solve another puzzle. "There's a simple way to settle this. Rob, Theon, you two look nothing alike. All we have to do is look at the baby and see which one of you he most resembles." Eddard Stark was a master of genetics, too.

"That sounds like sketchy reasoning . . ." Theon murmured. "I mean what with the random assortment of alleles during meoisis, any given zygot could end up with any random collection of dominant phenotypes-"

Eddard punched him in the face.

The family crowed around the nursing father anyway.

Arya squinted. "This baby looks like . . ."

There was a pause.

"Jon," Ned concluded. "This baby looks like Jon."

They all deflated.

"Pshaw. That's the last time I use that reasoning," Ned grumbled, unaware of the fact that just a few months down the road a genetically impossible heir would be cutting off his head and he could have saved himself if only he applied the simple rule of dominant and recessive genes sooner . . .

"Weeell like they say, it's bad luck to name a child before it's three years old," said Catelyn, bored and angry now that Jon was getting so much attention.

"Wait, since when are we wildlings?"

"So, does that mean I don't get to call my kid anything for three years?" asked Jon.

"Looks like it."

"Yet another problem solved by Eddard Stark, Master Detective!" Ned crowed.

"You didn't solve anything," Rob complained.

"Does this mean Jon is a mother?" pestered Bran, his wee little brain still trying to figure it out.

"You'll pull a muscle trying to figure that one out," Rob sighed, and lead him from the room. The rest of the family trudged out, scratching their heads. Despite the commotion, not a one of them had forgotten that supper was still only half eaten and getting cold in their absence. Such a caring family, they were.

Jon watched them leave broodily, a tear still glistening in his eye. He trembled his bottom lip expertly, but no one was paying attention. "Looks like they'll be no christening for you any time soon, poor Theobert."

Just before disappearing through the door, Arya turned around. "Hey, you could call him Lump in the meantime."

"NO!" shouted six voices.

Somewhere in a corner, Ghost whimpered. No one cared.


	6. Chapter 6: Intermission

**Part Six**

**AN: So since a small number (a very small number) of people seem to be reading this and want to know what happens, I'll actually write some new chapters and wrap this up. In the meantime, I wrote this and its funny so I'm posting it even though it doesn't further the story whatsoever. But don't worry, I'll be back on track soon. . . actually rereading this now it's kind of strange. Enjoy it anyway! And review!**

"This is the worst," Jon thought miserably to himself. "This is the absolute worst." He shifted, trying to shield himself in the shadows of an alcove as a group of people walked by. He looked down at his torso and smiled slightly, jiggling the baby that was strapped there. The baby stared back. "Mnn?" it asked.

"All these strangers," Jon worried, checking the hall for any more people. "And we won't be able to hide from them for much longer." If it wasn't bad enough that the castle has been invaded by the king and what seemed like the entirety of his court, the damnable man had decided that a normal welcoming feast wasn't good enough. Nope, the entire castle had to assemble to greet him, and they all had to be in costume.

"Nnn!" his baby demanded unsympathetically, making sucking motions.

"So greedy~" Jon lamented, hoisting up his offspring and making tracks to somewhere more private. He found an empty room and sat down, pulling his collar down off his shoulder to expose his chest. He regarded the nameless child's healthy pink . . . sparkly . . . skin glowing in the soft light of the setting sun as he attempted to sooth his insatiable hunger. Eventually he got impatient and popped the suckling off with a finger. The baby growled and set at gnawing on his finger as vigorously as he could. Jon winced. "Come on, Theobert, we'd better get ready." He sighed miserably and left.

Jon picked up a fistful of his skirts and slipped as stealthily as he could past the huge door to the main hall. He slithered down the stone steps to the kitchens, then tripped on his apron strings and slipped. He groaned as he struggled back to his feet. His baby made a condescending noise.

"Don't judge me!" Jon snapped, swooping him up by his handle. Jon ignored the angry baby's grumbling as he looked around for the last piece of his costume.

"There!" he declared when he found what he was looking for, pulling out a plain iron tray and plopping the baby down on it. Theobert looked back at him balefully from the small face whole cut into the oversized fabric mead tumbler which he was zipped into. His mother/father smiled back at him. "Perfect."

The baby regarded him back. For the first time, his eyes alighted on his parent's chest, or more specifically at the stuffed breasts which Jon had carefully shaped in the open space in his borrowed barmaid's dress. The baby's eyes brightened and he reached out two fat eager hands.

Jon was hurt. "What, aren't mine good enough for you? Ah, well, at least it means they're shaped correctly enough to fooled you." He picked up the tray and made his way upstairs. The only reason he was in drag was that he wanted to disguise himself, and the only way he could think to look inconspicuous with a baby was to be a woman. The only reason he was going to this party at all was that his father had threatened him with Bran-sitting duty if he didn't show is face.

He slipped into the hall. His family was at the far end. It looked like Rob was being forced to play host to the royal family and their simpering offspring. He wore a handsome Stark-coloured tunic and a silver wolf mask. In fact, most people around seemed to think that "costume" meant "mask." That was one down.

A large gaggle of girls was gathered in one corner. Two down. Or at least, if Theon wasn't there already, he would be before long.

Jon slide onto a bench, looking around warily. His potential mates had been very clingy lately, and very prone to violent bickering if they should find themselves together. Avoiding them both had become a hobby, and it was even more important that they don't make a scene in the presence of so many people.

"Hey there, pretty lady," said a deep voice behind him. Jon yelped and spun around. A drunk knight was leaning over him. He wore a very peculiar outfit with sticks sticking out of his back. He may have supposed to have been a hedgehog. "What're you doing sitting around, you should be getting me a drink!" he guffawed. D_ammit, disguise back fire._ "Oh, I see you already got one," he slurred, picking up Theobert.

Eyes wide in panic, Jon snatched his baby back and ran away. When he'd reached the farthest, quietest corner, he sank down, panting. "Cannibals!" he exclaimed in derangement. Theobert blinked at him. Apparently the baby hadn't been very worried of the possibility of getting eaten, mistaken for a glass of mead. Jon hugged his offspring close to him, murmuring soft words of comfort. The baby just looked disgruntled.

Jon looked up at the first notes of a song. An excited hush fell as the floor cleared and dancing began. "I'd better let Dad see me," he muttered. He really didn't want to be stuck playing dolls with Bran. "Maybe everyone will be distracted by the dancing." He got up and crept along the edge of the room, keeping an eye out. He saw Rob dance past, looking put upon, the tiny princess in his arms. One down . . .

"Hey, cutie." _Shit._

Jon turned around just in time to be pushed back against the wall. "Theon!" he cried. That tall, dashing figure was unmistakable, even with his face covered.

"Oh ho ho, you've heard of me."

"It's me!" Jon squeaked.

"Hmm?" Theon leaned down closer. "There's no way I could have met you before; I would have remembered such a cute face." He traced one long, elegant finger down the curve of Jon's cheek. He shivered. _I guess you were always too busy looking at my ass. _"What are you doing all alone?" Theon crooned.

"I- I, I'm just going to go over . . . there . . ." Jon tried to edge away.

Theon put a hand on his arm. "What's the rush?" he asked, smoothly. "Maybe you'd like to show me if you're drink is as sweet as your face." He plucked Theobert off the tray and lifted him to his lips. Eyes on Jon, Theon wide mouth curved in a smile as he prepared to take a drink.

"Umm . . ."

Just millimetres from his nose, Theon noticed. He started, taking a step back. "Well, it's a baby," he said, trying to regain his composure. He smiled again. "Did you think that would bother me? I have a baby of my own, you know."

Jon face palmed and groaned.

"Hehe, it makes me want to know what's under this costume," Theon continued, plucking at Jon's sleeves. Before he could protest, Theon grabbed him and hauled him away. Jon cried out, but his words were drowned in the music and laughter. Theobert watched his mother be dragged away from his perch on a nearby table.

Theon threw open the door of a small bedroom, situated oddly close to the hall. Honestly, it looked like it had been built for the purpose.

"Really Theon, it's me!" Jon shrieked as he was pushed roughly over a side table. Hot tears rolled down his face, smearing his make-up as Theon fumbled with the hem of his skirts. He knew Theon was a player, but he didn't think he would cheat on him this easily. He wriggled. "Let me go!"

"Mmm," Theon moaned, "That's right, struggle baby." Succeeding in getting his hands around his clothing, he hiked his skirts up above his waist in one mighty heave, and freed his eager penis in one casual flick at his belt buckle. He was well practised at that one.

As quick and horny as ever, Theon sunk into the preferred hole, no foreplay necessary. He used one hand to hold Jon's hip and the other to grope his fake boob, then set at it.

Jon kicked his legs furiously. "The-on!"

The music died down and Rob bowed respectfully to the princess, then rushed off before he could be roped into anything else. He fled to a quiet corner and sighed. Being heir was hard work. He was tired, and could go for a good cool glass of mead. He looked around for a barmaid. _Dammit, how am I supposed to tell who the maids are when everyone is in costume?_

He spotted a tray left on a table, a single glass left on it. He went over to see if it was full. He started. "Wulfie!"

"Un! Un! Un!" Ghost pattered down the hallway, following the sounds of his master's voice. He came to a door. Loud thumping was emanating from within, the sound of furniture being banged. The softer sound of skin on skin could be made out. He nosed open the door. Ghost gasped.

His master was prostrate over a table, held helplessly in place by a larger man, crying and whimpering as the bigger man flexed his hips back and forth, pounding him. His master scrabbled at the wall, clawing with his hands. Sweat ran down the bigger man's legs, joining his pants pooled on the floor.

Ghost didn't really know what was happening . . . he had a feeling that he used to be familiar with these sorts of thoughts, before he had tried to do something like this with his sister and his master had cut his balls off. But whatever it was, his master didn't like it. He had to do something, but Ghost was too well trained to bite. He had to make a noise, any noise. He had to bark. He tried to summon the sound to his silent mouth. He concentrated, willing himself to, and he-

Suddenly the door burst open and Ghost was flung across the room, where he crashed headfirst into the wall. He slide down in slow motion and lay crumpled in a heap of defeat on the ground.

"Jon!" Rob shouted.

Jon gave off a strangled sob. Had Theon still not realized who he was fucking? Had he still not realized _what _he was fucking? He couldn't imagine a man and a women felt very similar. His groping hands were certainly giving his stuffed boobs a run for their money.

"Ah-rah!" Rob cried heroically, side-checking Theon. Theon went flying, although unfortunately he was still attached to Jon, and wasn't going to come out of the swollen orifice that easily. Jon crashed to the ground as well, where he lay in a tangle of limbs.

"Oi! What the hell, Rob? Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" grumbled Theon, rubbing his penis in indignation. "I was almost done!"

Rob scowled. "How could you leave Wulfie all alone like that in the hall? Someone could have drunk him!"

"Salty?" asked Theon in confusion. "What has he got to do with this? Salty's safe with Jon . . . my salt wife!" he added vehemently.

Rob's scowl deepened. "I don't know what you're on about, but you're a fine husband who forces his wife away and abandons little babies."

Theon for the first time got a clear view of the exposed rear end he had been humping. He gasped. "I'd know that ass anywhere!" he exclaimed.

Jon raised his eyes to look at him, big and wobbly as they were.

"Jon! How long have you . . ." realization dawned. "Omg."

Jon looked at him sadly, then turned away and buried his head in Rob's lap. _Victory, _Rob thought, doing mental fist pumps. He stroked the hair around his ears comfortingly.

Jon tried to wipe at his wet face. "Where's Theobert?" he asked looking around. "He'll need me by now."

Rob's face went blank. "Oh . . . I, uh-"

"You left him too, didn't you!" accused Theon.

"No!" Rob denied. "I, well, he was okay when I left him!"

Jon shoved away and rose shakily to his feet. "Where is he?" he demanded in the voice of Doom.

"Still on the table, I expect," Theon said.

Jon turned and dashed off. "Wait!" Rob called after him.

"Leave me alone!" Jon whimpered. "You're both horrible parents; neither one of you deserves to be his father!"

Jon ran back into the hall. Most people were lying around under benches or collapsed in corners by this point in the evening. "Noes!" He ran toward the place where his baby had been, and nervously rolled a giant fat guy away, hoping he wouldn't find a squashed gay baby underneath.

Finding none, he looked around hopelessly, then spotted a procession of servants disappearing, carrying trays of dishes. He dashed after them and flew down the steps to the kitchens, leapt epically across the room and snatched his baby from the hands of the confused dish washing boy who was just about to lower him a vat of soapy water.

Gasping and sobbing, Jon clutched him to his chest and moaned. For once, Theobert seemed glad to see him. The happiness lasted for a few moments before he started to nudge at his chest expectantly.

Awhile later saw Jon emerge shakily from the kitchens, drained of milk and energy. He wobbled on shaky legs, holding the baby awkwardly out in front of him to protect him if he should trip and fall. Depressed, Jon resolved to hide in his room forevermore.

His father caught him as he was about to collapse. "What's the matter?" he asked, trying to be paternal.

Jon's eyes fluttered open. "Oh Father, I don't know what I'm going to do! Rob and Theon both won't leave me alone, night and day- especially night! They're both trying to use Theobert to get close to me, but neither one really cares about him!"

"So much trouble over a fat-baby?" Eddard shook his head. "I didn't see you at the feast, Jon," he accused, grinning. "Good thing, too. Someone needs to look after Bran tomorrow. How lucky! Oh well, goodnight!" And with that he walked away (so caring, isn't he?).

**AN: That's fat-baby, like a baby made of fat, not a baby that is fat. . . cause he still won't believe that Jon was pregnant. (oh heh Im soooo clevr) .**


	7. Chapter 7: Fk this Noise

**Part Seven**

The first light of the day flitted in the cracks in the shutters. Jon rolled over and tried to bury his head in his pillow, blocking out the light. Like always, he had spent a large part of the night feeding Theobert, and he wasn't eager to interrupt his rest unnecessarily. As he curled himself comfortably around his blanket he remembered wistfully the days when he and Rob would be up at dawn, training in swordplay. He'd had to give up any physical activity since he gotten too big to move properly.

Jon made a face and repositioned his head. Something was bothering him; he couldn't get comfortable, and for once it wasn't because of Theobert. Struggling in his half-awake mind to figure out what it was, he tried to narrow down it's location.

The disturbance was on his upper half . . . on his head . . . on his forehead.

Grunting, Jon rubbed a hand over his face. "Ow!" he yelped as he run his hand over something sensitive. He fingered the sore spot.

He gasped and leapt out of bed, bending down to check the small mirror on the table. He brushed his hair off of his forehead and wailed. He clapped a hand over the offending large, bulbous pimple, hiding it.

"What do I do~~?" he cried.

Theobert woke up and looked over the edge of his bassinet, curious.

Jon whirled for a moment, then took his hand off his head to raise his hands in a helpless plea. "What do I do?" he asked his baby. Theobert's face lite up in amusement and he giggled.

Jon squawked and slammed his hand back over the zit. He began to riffle desperately under his bed. He came back up with a furry beaver hat. He crammed it on his head. "What do you think?" he asked. Theobert stared at him. "You're right, I'll over heat!" Jon tore it off and cast it aside and continued to look.

"What about this?" he asked, wearing a cowboy hat.

"Nn-mm," his child said.

"This?" he asked, sporting a bandana.

"Mnn," the baby said angrily.

"This one?" wearing a reed Chinese peasant's sun hat.

Theobert growled.

"All right all right!" Jon turned and began to pull things out from under Rob's bed. "Hats, hats, what hats does Rob own?" he sang, discarding shoes, old sandwiches, erotic books, and a pink frilly dress.

"Hnmm?"

"Oh, I think I wore that for Halloween once," his mother explained. "Oh! Which reminds me, I'm sure there was a hat that went with it . . . here it is!" he turned around to show Theobert.

Theobert burst into babyish laughing, crowing joyfully. His face turned red and he rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air in glee.

"Shut up!" Jon complained, whacking him lightly. "It's the best of the lot, and I need to pee," and with that he left the room, the bonnet pulled down as far as it would go over his forehead.

Blah blah who am I kidding, no one's reading this stupid story. There was going to be something about Theobert speaking to Jon with a demonic Satan-spawn voice but no one believing him and maybe something about being haunted by Ned Stark's ghost but you can fill it all in yourself if you care to. Although I assume if anyone did care, I would have gotten more of a response. For now, farewell the very few people who will ever read this, may your future be full of crack and your first born be a fabulous shiny pink gay baby (oh gods I can't believe I'm posting this crap . . .).

I REGRET NOTHING


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